


Spiteful Shame

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: He’s so close, he’s biting his tongue and the inside of his cheek and he knows, heknowsif Iwaizumi twists his hand a bit more and strokes him one last time, he’d be—Tooru growls low on his throat when Iwaizumi’s hand, instead of finishing him, disappears completely. Tooru stares at him with betrayal and a gaping mouth, and the damn bastard smirks at him and pats his leg. “You should fix it before you stand up and let everyone see what a mess I made of you,” Iwaizumi whispers just before standing up himself.“What mess,” Tooru groans softly. “You didn’t even finish it!”





	Spiteful Shame

**Author's Note:**

> kinktober day 2, public. i love teasing iwaizumi more than i can put into words.

There’s a special sort of excitement in sex that comes from pure and glowing spite. It tastes weird and thick, as if cotton candy were been pushed down your throat with no end, but still sweet and heaven-like. Spite sex is like that, a burning feeling you know it’s gonna turn you into ashes, but shit be damned, it’ll be worth it.

It’s not the same as angry sex. The unilaterality of it provides as much excitement as it forces a challenge, and sometimes Tooru doesn’t think himself able to choose which of both he likes best.

The truth is, when Iwaizumi is concerned, sex in any shape or form is always alluring.

His stomach swelters at the thought of having his best friend _slash_ sex friend _slash_ _we’ve been having sex for almost a year but we won’t call it a relationship because Talks are not our thing_.Tooru keeps his smile in place when he shifts unnoticably, his legs brushing Iwaizumi’s under the table and making him flinch. A thick, warm pool of excitement and unsatisfied pleasure fills Tooru’s insides.

The satisfaction of knowing himself owner of how Iwaizumi tenses all over is vile and candy-like and Tooru and his sweet tooth lick their lips in anticipation.

“So,” Hanamaki continues with his story, the mischief on his eyes putting a laugh on Tooru’s mouth. “There I was, trying to catch my breath, and the next second—”

Iwaizumi’s fingers bury themselves on Tooru’s thigh, and squeze so harsh it’s painful. Tooru lets out a strangled sound, but his hand keeps wandering around Iwaizumi’s crotch in slow, provoking circles. Hanamaki and Matsukawa burst out laughing when the former ends up his story, and Tooru copies them.

The laugh couldn’t taste better, when Iwaizumi just grits his teeth and pushes his fingers deeper into Tooru’s flesh.

The threat is loud and clear although Iwaizumi hasn’t said a word, but Tooru isn’t but a danger addict. His roaming hand finally finds the soft bulge of Iwaizumi’s cock, and he starts massaging it over his clothes with the most innocent of expressions.

“I’m impressed you haven’t ended up in jail yet,” Tooru lets Hanamaki know while his palm starts to warm up with Iwaizumi’s heat.

“Me too,” Hanamaki sighs, and lets his weight rest against the back of the booth. The izakaya is loud enough around them to keep his next words a whisper. “I’m pretty scared my luck’s gonna end soon.”

“Nonsense.” Matsukawa falls on his arms, now resting atop the table. He watches Hanamaki with an arched eyebrow and a calm smile.

Iwaizumi can’t move. If Tooru dared to look at him, he’d be swimming in a pool of rage and dissatisfaction and murder promises that would put any man into the same cell Hanamaki is so amazingly good at avoiding.

But Tooru doesn’t look back at him, although he can feel Iwaizumi getting hard under his temptative touches, although Iwaizumi’s strong grip has started to move up and up and up.

Tooru sometimes wonders if this push and pull they play at will end up blowing right on their faces.

“You have to take care of yourself, though,” Matsukawa tells Hanamaki, the smile tender but worried. Hanamaki sighs loudly again and tears his own gaze away, and meanwhile Tooru’s watching them with the whole room on his lungs and his cock already twitching with the imminent touch of Iwaizumi’s fingers.

He’s worried for Hanamaki, of course; in some part of his blurred mind he regrets starting this stupid game with Iwaizumi’s patience right in front of their best friends. Tooru can’t explain it to himself, but somewhere in these last two months he has started to lose track of what they were supposed to work on, and instead the urge to press on every single unspoken rule they had build has taken over him.

At the age of twenty-two they should be able to work their relationship with words instead of furious sex, but Tooru seems unable to do neither.

Iwaizumi’s hand cups Tooru over his pants, and Tooru inhales sharply.

“Are you okay?” Matsukawa frowns at him. Tooru’s mind blinks in white for a long second before he can answer.

“Yeah,” he yelps. “It’s just— My knee has been bothering me since this morning.”

Tooru hates the lie and he hates even more the worry taking over Hanamaki’s and Matsukawa’s expression.

But he can’t help it. He can’t help the spite and the urge to touch Iwaizumi and the stupid, childish need of giving themselves away so they are forced to finally face this stupid thing between them.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki don’t notice, though. Iwaizumi, although tense and silent, doesn’t give anything away. Tooru can feel his tight jaw on the way he’s folding his cock over his pants, and he’s not sure what to do next.

He wants to grab Iwaizumi and take him to the toilet.

He wants to bend over and take his cock in his mouth right here.

He wants to lean on the table and sob this mess away.

Iwaizumi presses hard against his cock’s head, and Tooru sees white. The tables are turning, Tooru being as sensitive and weak to Iwaizumi’s demands as they both know he is. He shouldn’t have started this. Not tonight.

Not a year ago.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hanamaki puts his hand on Tooru’s sweaty forehead, and both Iwaizumi and Tooru lean closer, trying to hide their hands’ work on each other’s laps. “You’re burning up.”

“You’re such a light weight,” Matsukawa chuckles.

Iwaizumi sneers when Hanamaki leans back to his sit, and starts to stroke Tooru over the fabric. “You should know how weak you are by now, don’t you think, Shittykawa?”

Tooru doesn’t think. He _can’t_ think. He nods, probably, and presses harder on Iwaizumi’s crotch, half hard. It annoys the shit out of him to know Iwaizumi isn’t as tempted by Tooru’s teasing as Tooru obviously is, and he pouts.

Or he tries to. He’s not sure what his facial muscles are doing anymore.

“Maybe we should—”

“Nah,” Iwaizumi calls the waiter with his free hand. “Could you bring us four beers?”

Tooru’s mouth flinches, his lips trying to draw a smile that he’s far from feeling. His belly tightens when Iwaizumi rubs his palm over his cock, and he can’t but open his eyes in widen astonishment when Iwaizumi undoes Tooru’s pants using the come back of the waiter as distraction. Right there. In front of their friends _and_ the high-pointed gaze of the guy.

Tooru glups soundly, and he’s not sure his body can keep functioning as normal when Iwaizumi slips his hand inside his underwear and touches his naked flesh.

“How’s work going.”

“Stressful,” Iwaizumi answers with a smile and a fist filled with Tooru’s throbbing cock. “I’ve been pulling all nighters all week.”

“Holy shit.” Hanamaki takes a long sip of his beer, Matsukawa just shakes his head. “Not surprised you’re still awake and alive, though.”

“Barely,” Matsukawa points out, and they both laugh under their noses. Iwaizumi frowns, and Tooru would make a loud remark about his acting skills if he could actually figure out how his mouth work. “You look short of a dead man.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, and Tooru rolls his hips against his hand.

Shit.

Tooru whines softly on his throat, barely a sound. Hanamaki turns his attention to him, and Iwaizumi’s hand stops dead on his shaft.

Tooru inhales deeply.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m tired,” Tooru answers shakily. “I’ve been working a bit too much and my knee—,” Iwaizumi fists Tooru hard enough to make him startle, and Tooru has to bite his tongue to not moan out loud. “I think I might end up sick soon.”

“Don’t get too close, then,” Hanamaki leans towards the corner, as if Tooru’s germs couldn’t catch him there. “I have three interviews next week.”

“Try not to burn the building this time.”

Hanamaki smiles at Tooru, but when Tooru’s about to answer it, Iwaizumi’s thumb finds the head of his cock and Tooru can’t follow the conversation any longer. He tries to pretend, because he’s as good an actor as Iwaizumi is, dammit. Tooru smiles and laughs —or cracks, really; the sounds coming out of his mouth could be more those of a dying animal, just reinforcing the idea he’s two minutes from falling sick on his side.

Iwaizumi leans on the table, titling his body enough to shadow what his left hand’s doing under their noses. The strokes get faster and wetter the more Iwaizumi teases the red, thick head of Tooru’s cock.

Tooru stays glued to the wooden back of the booth and stares with hazy eyes to the blurry images that are his friends. His hands close in fists, Iwaizumi’s crotch long forgotten. Tooru wants to fight the mist clouding his mind, but he’s not sure anymore if he has started this to force Iwaizumi’s hand under his pants, or to make a point.

But what point. Tooru’s sure there was a reason behind all this stupid device, but for the life of him, he can’t grasp it. The heat of Iwaizumi’s palm is way too good to let thoughts flow through his mind, and need waves through him, drowning his ability to talk.

Hanamaki’s, Matsukawa’s and Iwaizumi’s voices are muffled when they push the last beer in Tooru’s direction. Tooru stares at it, already half empty, and he frowns, not sure if he’s the one who has drank it, or if it has just evaporated with the warmth of the air. Gods, he’s choking on it.

“I think he’s sick for real,” Matsukawa says with dark eyes. “You should better go home and rest, Oikawa.”

“Yeah, before we catch whatever you got,” Hanamaki grimaces, and Iwaizumi chuckles softly.

Tooru wants to murder them both, but he’s too occupied trying to not cum to do anything else. He’s so close, he’s biting his tongue and the inside of his cheek and he knows, _he knows_ if Iwaizumi twists his hand a bit more and strokes him one last time, he’d be—

Tooru growls low on his throat when Iwaizumi’s hand, instead of finishing him, disappears completely. Tooru stares at him with betrayal and a gaping mouth, and the damn bastard smirks at him and pats his leg. “You should fix it before you stand up and let everyone see what a mess I made of you,” Iwaizumi whispers just before standing up himself.

“What mess,” Tooru groans softly. “You didn’t even _finish it!_ ”

Tooru’s stomach tightens when Iwaizumi laughs softly. He peeks where Matsukawa and Hanamaki are already paying some meters away, and using the protection of the booth’s walls, he leans back down. Tooru just blinks at him when Iwaizumi crashes their lips together in a peck too short and too unsatisfying to even call a kiss.

“Come on, shittykawa,” Tooru clenches his teeth at Iwaizumi’s amused tone, “before it starts snowing and you get even _sicker_.”

He does a poor job, but the long winter coat helps hiding what his pants fail to conceal. Tooru limps around, though. Walking hurts like a bitch, and one would believe an undone hand-job and the freezing wind would cool him off. Well, isn’t Tooru the lucky guy, now trying to pretend he’s not painfully hard under his suit pants, playing sick in front of his best friends.

“You should go to the doctor tomorrow if you still feel sick,” Matsukawa’s saying, a hand on Tooru’s shoulder.

Tooru nods, gritting his teeth, and waves goodbye to him and Hanamaki. Tooru’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that they’re going in the opposite direction. Tooru shivers, his heated skin too sensitive against the winter cold.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi pushes him, a sturdy, heavy hand on Tooru’s shoulder blades. “Let’s take you home.”

“I hate you so much,” Tooru manages to spit. Iwaizumi’s smile could light a small country with how big it’s getting. “Take that damn thing out of your mouth.”

“What thing?”

“That stupid smile!” Tooru hits his chest, the warmth of Iwaizumi’s hand still on his back branding him. The shadow of his touch makes Tooru feel as if wings were spreading through his skin. “Take it _off_.”

Iwaizumi beams, because that’s how shitty he is. He grabs Tooru’s arm and drags him to an empty alley, barely lighten. Tooru’s panting, harshly. The burning feeling of his lungs gets almost unbearable when the freezing air starts to fill what was lava just two seconds ago.

Tooru lets himself be guided and he doesn’t say a word until Iwaizumi pushes him against a wall. They are close, and Tooru squints in rage, his cock throbbing so bad he’s sure it will kill him. And then Tooru will have to kill Iwaizumi, because the damn bastard’s still wearing that damn, endearing smile.

“You know,” Iwaizumi lets his hands fix Tooru’s coat, “you suck at his.”

Tooru inhales sharply. “ _You_ suck at this!” Tooru points at his crotch, now visible thanks to Iwaizumi’s handy work. “The basic requirement for a hand-job is _commitment_.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, warming Tooru’s cheek with his breath. “Same goes for you. Oikawa,” Tooru holds his breath and Iwaizumi’s hand folds his painfully hard cock over the fabric, “do you even know how to provoke a man?”

Tooru growls loudly, and then moans softly when Iwaizumi undoes his pants. Resting his head against the wall and exposing his throat, Tooru grabs Iwaizumi’s nape and pushes him against his neck. Tooru sighs at the touch of Iwaizumi’s chapped lips, kissing his way from Tooru’s jaw to the base of his neck. There’s a tender magic in the way Iwaizumi kisses Tooru, sometimes, with his dry lips and his wet tongue and his mouth shaped into a smile. His saliva a love potion, maybe, and his teeth the sharpen needle poking into Tooru’s rushed blood flow.

“Iwa–chan.” Iwaizumi sheaths Tooru’s cock in answer, ripping a loud gasp from his lips. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I hate what you do to me,” Tooru moans his last words out, and Iwaizumi fastens his pace, and lowers his kisses. He’s about to bite Tooru’s collarbone when he does that thing, the twisting and pressing and thumbing thing with his magic wrist, and Tooru tenses all over. “ _Aahhh_.”

“You hate it, huh.” Iwaizumi’s smile seeps into Tooru’s skin, and a shiver runs from the back of his head to the back of his knees, now trembling heavily. Tooru’s not sure he can stand anymore when Iwaizumi strokes him again, exactly how Tooru likes it, and a whine Tooru’s not proud off comes out of his mouth, low and long and shaky.

Tooru grabs Iwaizumi’s arms so hard he’s sure the waves of his fingertips are forever printed on him. He arches his neck a bit more, trying to ride Iwaizumi’s hand, trying to step away from it. Tooru’s not sure what he’s doing anymore, although his hips are moving following Iwaizumi’s grip, although he’s trying to hold onto him and push him closer.

Iwaizumi kisses Tooru’s cries away, when he finally makes him come, there on the middle of a street in the center of the city. Tooru closes his eyes and spams and shudders with every stroke of Iwaizumi’s hand. He keeps working on him ‘till his orgasm has come and gone, leaving Tooru weak and soft and more needy than he was before.

Tooru whimpers softly when Iwaizumi rubs his finger over the oversensitive head of his cock, leaving a soft kiss on his temple. Tooru has now his hands on his shoulders, on his back, on his neck, on his hair. Like a life safer, Tooru’s holding into Iwaizumi with the last strengths he has.

“Do you feel better now?”

Tooru’s not amused by his underlying joke, so he shakes his head. “This is not funny.”

“You started it.”

Tooru grimaces, because he wasn’t talking about tonight, and because Iwaizumi’s answer fits either way. He’s scared to look, the alley too dark to see if Iwaizumi could use a hand as much as Tooru has needed one.

“I hate it,” Tooru mutters again, his arms fighting the urge of pushing Iwaizumi closer and pushing him away. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

Saying it doesn’t help his mood. It doesn’t help Iwaizumi’s either, for the smile falls from his lips, and his gaze tears away from Tooru’s.

“Well, okay. Saying it once was enough.”

“What’s this, Iwa–chan?”

Iwaizumi frowns at his hands, dirtied in dried white. “Your cum, obviously.”

Tooru blushes shamefully at that. “I wasn’t talking about that. I—”

“You what?”

“Do you want me?” Tooru says half way, eating the most important part of that question, the part that’d have made it light and sex-related and not as emotionally heavy as Tooru feels this one now, hanging from his lips like a death sentence.

Iwaizumi watches him with eyes wide open. “What? You mean as in… if I want to, uhm, have sex with you right now? Or if I—”

Tooru lies. “If you want to fuck me, of course. I know you don’t want anything else from this, Iwa–chan.” Tooru pats his shoulders, as if Iwaizumi were the one who should be comforted.

He isn’t. Tooru can’t be entirely sure because of all the blood rushing into his ears, but there’s no doubt his heart has just cracked loudly enough to shake all his ribs.

Iwaizumi watches him wary. When he leans closer, Tooru caws low on his throat. “I want to fuck you, of course.” Iwaizumi grinds his hips, and Tooru’s lungs stop functioning entirely. “But not here. I want to do it slow in your bed,” _our bed_ , “and then, when your brains are all over the place, I’ll tell you how fucking wrong you are.”

Tooru blinks, mouth dry. “What? Wrong with what?”

“I said I’ll tell you once I fuck you out of your senses, didn’t I?” Iwaizumi does Tooru’s pants and covers the mess he’s done there with Tooru’s coat. “Let’s go home before we actually freeze to death.”

“Iwa–chan?”

But Iwaizumi ignores Tooru’s plea, maybe because his own blush has taken over his ability to talk, maybe because Tooru’s hopes are so loud and shiny he can’t stand looking at them.

When Iwaizumi holds his hand, never glancing at him, Tooru hums softly. Tooru can say now without a doubt spite sex is his favorite of the lot.

Spiteful sex is, after all, sweet and soft and magic, because Tooru's spite has always come from love.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com)


End file.
